


Hold tight (you're slowly coming back to life)

by coruscates



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Communication Issues, Determined!Yuuri, Fighting, General, Hurt/Comfort, Lover’s Quarrel, M/M, Miscommunication, Mostly Canon Compliant, Non-career ending injury, Panic Attacks, Romance, Some takes on Viktor’s backstory, Viktor-centric, or as Canon Compliant as it can get, you can pry FatherFigure!Yakov off my lifeless hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11701749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coruscates/pseuds/coruscates
Summary: Viktor knew he still had much to learn, but what is learning without making a few mistakes on the way? Call it recklessness, or rebellion even, but Viktor believed that he could do it. After all, he had practiced months on trying to perfect it, down to the tiniest technicalityThere were times where Viktor just never knew how to listen when he really needed to.(Or 5 times Viktor didn’t listen and one time he did)





	Hold tight (you're slowly coming back to life)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Panic Attacks  
> Title is from a song by Birdy entitled "Keeping your head up" listen [ here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8AXUq5uA0Y)
> 
> Just going to put it out here: This is unbeta'd.

 

I.

Yakov Feltsman was not one who would be caught plowing through the crowd at this time of night. However, he had wanted to meet with an old friend of his, toast some wine as they discuss the success they had gained during the past year. His old time friend had been a fellow coach in his stay in one of Moscow’s local rinks. Yakov was very well established as a figure skating coach that he was easily able to get a bid at coaching prospected professional skaters at St. Petersburg.

Yakov pushed through the crowd bundled in his usual winter jacket, navy coat, and a bit thicker red scarf along with his trademark hat. Moscow, at this season, was at its peak visually. The streets were slick with snow, the iridescent streetlights illuminating the ground, tainting it with various hues. Each way you move, you’ll be met with the lively murmurs of people, voice nostalgic and animated. The various festive decors lined almost every nook and cranny within the city. As Yakov made his way, the chatter of the crowd continued to get louder as he neared the booth adjacent to the ice rink.  It was one of the largest in Moscow, filled with people enjoying New Year’s Eve hand in hand as they skated on the ice.

Yakov finally arrived at the booth, lighting up a bit as he caught sight of his friend peering out onto the ice, a bottle of wine resting on the barrier. It seemed that his colleague was enraptured by whatever skating occurring in the rink.  Yakov called out to him, his voice gruff and loud above the crowd’s chatter. The old man turned and gave a wave to his friend, beckoning him to come to his side and enjoy the view.

“Yakov, it’s been quite a while.” He pours some wine for his friend. It had been some time since they had last seen each other. Yakov had been busy with preparing for his move back to St. Petersburg. Although it was not all that apparent to Yakov’s demeanor, he was excited to return to the city. His anticipation was left to simmer within his chest. There was a lot he was looking forward to returning to. He missed the scent of the Baltic sea and the sound of the gulls chirping by the sea side. The sight of the sun as it hung in the sky for most of the day.  Not to mention, he can finally move back in with his wife.

“How’s everything, Artur? I didn’t expect you’d agree to watching over this rink on a night like this.” Yakov wouldn’t have agreed given that the amount of people out and about was too much for his liking.

“Well, I don’t mind. It’s a pretty magnificent view if I say so myself.” Artur took a small sip of his wine as his gaze returned to the ice. “You’ll never know what you just might witness.”

“Speaking of which, have you met the skaters training at St. Petersburg? I’ve heard they host quite the talents there.”

Yakov gave a huff of exasperation. He had gone to the rink itself the past month, and needless to say he wasn’t that impressed. Not that the skaters there were any less talented. Yakov, however, can’t just put aside the errors which he had witnessed on his last visit…but it wasn’t the expected errors which had put him a bit down. The skaters were talented, yes, but it wasn’t anything drastically different from what he had experienced in Moscow. Like with all skaters he had met, hard work breeds talent, precision and grace. All that they needed was more training to polish the rough edges in their skating.

“I see…but I guess you look forward to being proven wrong after some time, right?” Artur gave an amused laugh at his friend’s reaction, tilting his glass of wine, red liquid swishing a bit inside the glass.

“We’ll see, my friend. It seems that there is still much to do even with their talent.” Yakov poured himself another glass. The heat his body had gotten from the wine comforted him in the chilly air of Moscow in one of the coldest times of the year.

The two chatted in low voices as they hunched over the barrier, observing the carefree atmosphere unfolding before them. The rink was beautiful at this time of year. The lights from the beautiful architecture surrounding the square illuminated the frozen surface, tainting it in warm hues of gold, red and blue. The rink was a common place to celebrate on New Year’s Eve.

The music continues to drift through the atmosphere of the rink. It wasn’t soft but it was easy enough on the ears for people to enjoy their time on the ice. Before long, the long-winding holiday song had ended, a livelier and more festive melody taking its place accompanied by the sounds of skates sliding over the ice.

Before long, a crowd had gathered around the young man skating around to the sound of New Year’s music blasting throughout the rink. Yakov had taken notice of it. Artur waved it off to something that happens a lot during these times. Some skaters were often seen to show their skills to the public during such occasions. The crowd glided a bit backwards, expanding the circle and allowing Yakov and Artur to have a view of the skater through the gaps.

The boy was lanky in build, couldn’t have been older than 12. Silver tresses under the wool of his winter cap cascaded over his face as he stood on the ice. He donned a simple black jacket, red and white adorning the front, under his thick dark winter coat. A thick red scarf obscured half of his face.

The music had started to loop, effectively starting up again as the young man positioned his skates. Arms folded on his sides and head pointed down.

As soon as the first strum of the strings of the violin sounded, the young man’s head shot up to look at his audience, sea-blue eyes sparkling under the lights. A smile stretched across thin lips. The next few notes of the melody followed and the young man spun around, wrapping his arms around himself before extending them. He skated forwards and spun back, moving his body to the music. He glided on the ice as he put himself into a step sequence, movements hitting the notes as he danced. Gaining momentum as he skated, he launches himself into a double flip, landing cleanly. He proceeded to dance on his skates while he continued to enrapture the crowd around him. He conducted a symphony out of the music blaring through the rink. Each step emphasizing the beat. Each spin weaving together the transition between each note. Each jump grasping the onlooker’s chest with intense anticipation, the sound of his skates as he landed serving as a climax to the song.

The young man was a performer, an _artist_.

Yakov couldn’t fight the smile that crept unto his lips. This young man had talent in its rawest form. Sure, ice skating is pretty much a common past time among his people but this boy was incredibly at ease with all the intricate movements he wove using his body. The boy moved with grace as he completed complex movements, the sound of his skates scraping the ice clean and rhythmic, as if imitating a symphony only a professional could do. He could just imagine how amazing this young skater (Yakov thought it was apt to call him so, considering what he had just witnessed) could be in the future, given the right training of course.

The spectacle ended as the song closed on its final note. The crowd applauded the skater as he bowed, whispers of amazement and enjoyment filled the rink. Yakov and Artur had applauded as well. Amused smiles painted on both their faces.

“Hey kid!”  Artur called out to the young man, hoping to get to know the young skater a bit more.

“Where did you learn to skate like that?”

“Hmm…nowhere special.”

“Hm.” Yakov gave a soft grunt as he acknowledged his answer.  “If it is alright for me to ask, what’s your name, kid? Where are you from?”

“I’m Viktor!” A heart shaped smile accompanied his enthusiastic introduction.

“I meant your full name, kid.”

“ _Vitya_!”

“Ohhh-- oops gotta go~”

“Wait!”

 

 

 

 

Viktor Nikiforov, before he had become the face of figure skating, was just a young boy hanging around at that open ice rink. He was alone as it seemed. It may seem odd to the onlooker to see this young man on his own on New Year’s Eve. After all, it was a time of festivities. Most would be spending as much time with their families during the holidays, clinking bottles of vodka and eating traditional meals as they chatted the night away.  While others skated in pairs and in groups, the boy lazily skated random circles on the ice. The Red Square was open to all and almost all of Moscow was out to celebrate the coming New Year. Bundled in coats of different colors, the people have come to spend time to skate, killing time as they waited for the fireworks to color the skies at midnight. Viktor skates alone, surrounded by the laughter of strangers and families, voices dripping with glee. He was alone… but he had felt happy all the same.

 

Suffice to say, that wasn’t the last time Viktor and Yakov meet.

 

 

 

 

II.

 

The light of the early morning cascaded through the glass windows of the rink. Practice had begun as soon as Viktor and his rinkmates finished their outdoor training.

Viktor Nikiforov was now enrolled in Yakov Feltsman’s advanced figure skating class. The renowned coach had took him on after seeing the untapped potential dwelling inside the young skater. It had been 2 years since Yakov had taken the reigns at the rink. Two years since Yakov trained Viktor, polishing every possible aspect of his skating, slowly but surely molding him into a great skater.

After freshening up a bit in the locker room, Viktor stepped on the ice once again. His movements falling into step one after the other as he made his laps around the rink. At fourteen, he was slowly but surely climbing up the ranks in the Junior’s Division. He was revered as Russia’s rising star, having dominated all competitions he had joined throughout his years of skating. This was Viktor Nikiforov in his element.

Yakov had done brilliantly in bringing out Viktor’s strengths. Ever since Yakov had taken him under his wing, Viktor could feel the renewed energy increasing the flow of his movements, connecting his steps on the ice and adding to the power of his launch to his jumps. Viktor had felt he could do anything and _even more_.

Yakov had tasked him to go over his free skate program for Junior Russian Nationals. He was to skate to a piece composed by Tchaikovsky for the ballet production of Swan Lake, Lilia Baranovskaya had taken it upon herself to choreograph the program to play with Viktor’s strengths. It was up to Viktor, however, to perfect this masterpiece about to be set in stone.

With Yakov’s reluctant permission, he allowed Viktor to add on to the choreography _(“ Minimally, Viktor. I am not having you changing out any element Lilia decided to put into the skate for you. You can come to me with that when you’ve actually placed at the Grand Prix Final.”)_ after Viktor’s insistent demonstration of a small change in the step sequence weaved into the choreography.

Viktor, the performer that he is, prided himself in his ability to surprise the audience. He loved the rush of excitement as soon as he skated to the center of the ice. He loved the way his audience would gasp in awe as he completed any intricate entrance to his jumps. He admired the way the faces in the crowd smiled in delight as he bowed.

In truth, Viktor had wanted to change one jump in his program to a quad. He had wanted to use this competition to show a Viktor who is capable of more. The exact same feeling he feels now. He knew what he could do and as stubborn as he was, he wanted to try, even just once, and land it in competition even _only_ once.  He could imagine the roar of the crowd as he landed the quad which no skater has dared to even try in competition.

Viktor looked over at Yakov, busy talking to the other coaches. A smile crept to his face as he continued the choreography of his routine.

 

_‘This is my chance.’_

From his step sequence he proceeded to skate backwards, continuously gaining momentum from each glide on the ice—

 

 

 “Viktor, don’t you dare!”

 

 

It was too late, skates ate the ice as Viktor launched himself into the flip. In four glorious rotations in the air, Viktor felt the sense of accomplishment flood his senses, sending his body into elation. His hair twirled around him like a halo as he landed on one foot, unfortunately losing his balance and badly skidding across the ice.

 

“дерьмо!”

 

‘I did it.’

 

Viktor was thrilled, a grin splitting across his face as he was lying down on the ice. Utter ecstasy sprinted across his body as he struggled to get up. He can land it. He _was able_ to land it. His body was high on endorphins as he replayed the feeling over and over again in his head, each repetition spreading warmth over his chest as he let out a small accomplished laugh. Viktor was ecstatic, the energy flowed through his veins. He doesn’t bother to tone down his heart-shaped smile at his accomplishment. He proceeded to get up from the ice. Luckily, his arms didn’t bruise when he had braced himself from his fall. However, a stabbing pain shot through his right knee as he kneeled in his position, effectively bringing him back to lay on his side, nursing his knee in throbbing pain.

 

“Viktor!” Yakov was at his side as he clutched his right knee in agony, feeling the pain radiate to the back of his kneecap.

 

At that moment, Viktor couldn’t think of anything else aside from the searing ache which had made itself known. He didn’t want to think of anything else. The shouts of concern around him started to blend together. The faces of those gathered blurring against one another as his tears clouded his eyes. He didn’t want to hear anything. He didn’t want to hear the concern dripping from the voices around him. He didn’t want to see the worried expressions written over those who hovered over him. He didn’t want to feel the ache from his knee slowly making a home in his gut and his heart.

For all the ideas that Viktor had thought of, at this moment, he didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think that he will never be able to skate again. He didn’t want to think of how this would be the moment that everything that made him happy, everything that made him feel _free_ would be taken away from him in a span of a day. He didn’t want to think of how he’d be alone once again, trapped by all the things he had persevered to run away from.

He didn’t want to think.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doctor called it Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome. It was common among athletes, and especially figure skaters in their teens. A result of pushing the limits of a body on the verge of change. The physiologist had said that he would have to be off training for 3 months and after those 3 months he would be prohibited from doing any difficult jumps capable of straining his injury any further. How lucky of him, they said, that it was an injury that can be completely healed in a year. To Viktor, however, he definitely didn’t feel lucky in any way.

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t you dare think for a second that I didn’t know you were doing quads behind my back!”

Viktor nodded blankly.

“I warned you, and what did you do? Hurt yourself because of a jump that I prohibited you from doing in the first place!”

But he had done it, and that was all that mattered to Viktor. He had something new to bring to the crowd. He had something to make them smile even brighter than before. However, he felt blank. He had accomplished nothing in the end. He had landed it and it cost him the very thing which made the jump possible.

Yakov continued to lecture him in his office, eventually tiring himself out. Viktor kept his head down, gaze fixed on his dressed injury. A hand traced over it as he pondered on the things Yakov had said. He was being irresponsible with himself. Viktor couldn’t agree more, seeing at what his own actions did to him.

Yakov let out a heavy sigh as he studied his student. He should’ve been stricter. He should’ve kept an even closer eye on him. Although Viktor was becoming an excellent skater, he was still a child. As much as this injury was Viktor’s doing, it was his too.

“Viktor, expect training to be even harder once we get you back on the ice. I suggest you take advantage of the time you have and rest. And I mean _rest_. I am not having you making that injury even worse.”

“Okay, coach Yakov.” Viktor stood up to leave but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll have you back in time. You still have two programs in you. In fact, you have **_more_** than two programs in you…”

Viktor stiffens at his coach’s words. Sure, Yakov was not as harsh and blunt as he seems. Viktor knew that. However, hearing those words tumble out of the very person who had every right to be angry at him felt surreal. Viktor felt a bit of comfort hearing those words.

“…and maybe once we’re in the clear. I’ll let you do quads—“

At that word, Viktor looked to Yakov in disbelief.

“Really!?”

He believed that he could do quads even with this injury under his belt. However, a stern look was still painted on Yakov’s face.

 “Don’t get me wrong. The condition is _only_ if you win the Junior Grand Prix Final. A gold medal, nothing less.”

Understanding bloomed across Viktor’s face as he nodded with determination, a small smile plastered on his face.

“Thanks, Yakov!”

“It’s Coach Yak—“

“Bye~”

 

 

 

The door slides shut.

However, it’s not over yet.

Viktor knew he still had it in him.

Yakov knew too.

He can do this.

 

 

 

 

He was confident of that.

 

 

 

 

III.

 

 

The roar of the crowd was deafening as the first group of skaters entered the rink for practice. It was the day of the Free Skate for the Senior Russian Nationals, and Viktor was leaning against the corridor wall in wait as he had managed to place second with his short program. He was one of the youngest of the skaters present, having only debuted in the Senior division a little more than a year ago. Yakov had urged him to do his usual stretching as his coach handled some arrangements with the RSF. Viktor was already done with his stretches and he had gotten a little bored waiting for Yakov to come back. Moving away from his place, he had decided to watch the live feed of the skaters of the first group, walking towards the television situated towards the end of the corridor.

The first skater was set to start with his program, the opening sequence of a [ Russian waltz ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYhZVqODYsI) flitted throughout the stadium. Viktor watched with focus but instead of having his focus on the skate itself, his mind drifted with music, imagining a different program altogether before his eyes. A story of two lovers in the process of getting to know each other, the two flirting with each other, gaining each other’s affection as the music became grander and grander. The program ends with a beautiful flourish, signifying the two lovers finally coming together. (The program in his head was a stark contrast to the program on the television). Nonetheless, Viktor enjoyed the program his competitor had performed.

Viktor wasn’t bored of the competition, per se. He felt inspired from what he sees and he sees what could be more than what is shown. However, he wanted to become like what he sees. A story written with movements on the ice. He felt trapped by what Yakov had told him to stick with. It wouldn’t be the first time he would disobey his coach. Yakov wanted him to play safe and work himself to a slow and steady debut to the top of Senior division. Viktor didn’t want to play safe, however. It felt that although Yakov was pushing him beyond his limits as a skater, his programs failed to show any of that progress. Call it teenage rebelliousness, but years of being under Yakov’s care had made him a tad bit jaded about his own programs. Sure, Yakov trusts him more now regarding his programs but he still imposes restrictions on some jumps or at least the one jump Viktor had wanted to land ever since he was allowed to do quads. He had won Worlds a while back, but he wasn’t allowed to choreograph his own routine to his taste, to what he really was capable of, to what he wanted to truly express.

To Viktor, his skating was supposed to show a story, and in order to fully capture the story itself, he wanted to tune up his program as much as he can. But alas, Viktor was still new to taking the reins of his own skating, Yakov still has a lot of reason to keep tabs on Viktor lest he end up doing something that compromises more than just his skating career.

Viktor knew he still had much to learn, but what is learning without making a few mistakes on the way? Call it recklessness, or rebellion even, but Viktor believed that he could do it. After all, he had practiced months on trying to perfect it, down to the tiniest technicality.

So at this point, he had decided that if he could do land it in in practice, he can very well land it in competition. And that was the very flare that his program was missing.

The second group was finally called to the rink, signaling the end of the first half of the free skate. Viktor as well as his competitors had taken to the ice going over the choreography. Viktor greets his competitors politely despite some of them outright ignoring him to which he had responded to with a pout. They were all here to skate, might as well have fun with it, right?

 

 

 

The programs passed by quickly. It would be Viktor’s turn to take the ice. Leaning against the barrier Viktor stretched his legs, preparing himself for his program.  Yakov reminds Viktor of some pointers to remember in his program.

“I trust that you’ll keep to what we prepared for today, Vitya. We may be in home territory but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to fool around anything beyond what we prepared for today. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Yakov.” A glint emerged in Viktor’s eyes as he said this, a sparkling mirth playing around sea blue, accented by the smile he wore on his face.

“You can trust me on this!”

He quickly spun around before Yakov could say anything more. Yakov buried his face in his palms. That familiar glint in Viktor’s eye wasn’t something Yakov trusted.

“Vitya!”

                                                                                                                                                  

 

Viktor waved to the crowd as he prepared himself for the first opening notes of [ Ravel’s Boléro ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4wb11w0ZHQ). The repetition in this piece was meant to be built up upon by each part of the program. Each segment tailored to bring something new.

He leveled his gaze with the crowd before he closed his eyes, waiting for his cue to move. At the sound of the drums’ beat, Viktor skates back extending his arms and sends himself into a triple lutz. His skates landing cleanly as he landed with a light flourish, casting light upon the glitters of his costume. He immediately enters a step sequence, following the playful, lilting melody of the music. From a spread eagle, he then launches himself to a triple axel. The roar of the crowd resonates within his bones. Yakov and Viktor had originally planned only using two quads. Viktor, however, planned to up it by one.

The music reaches the second half of the program as Viktor lands his Quad Toe Loop. Viktor smiles determined as he enters a combination spin. It was nearing the timing for the triple flip planned in his program. Viktor skates around the rink before turning back and gaining immense speed and momentum. If he wanted to land this jump perfectly, he will need everything in his body to complete it. At the sound of the drums beating louder, the violins now leading the melody as the trumpets followed, Viktor launches himself into four rotations, a Quad Flip. The crowd is silent for a moment before loud cheers erupted.

Viktor felt the excitement course through his body, the rush of the cheers of his audience filling his veins. Viktor lands a bit roughly, but he had landed it. He _landed_ it. _In competition_ , no less. A grin broke out of his face as he spun once on the ice, dancing to the melody flitting through the arena.

Viktor felt weightless. It was as if he could fly. And he did. He then follows that up with a Triple Lutz- Triple Toe Loop combination, landing perfectly as the crowd chanted his name. However, after that rush of adrenaline, Viktor’s body was suddenly heavy. It felt as if his muscles were added on weights. His skates had suddenly felt a bit too heavy to lift. When he enters the final segment of his program, he felt the fatigue flood his body even more. The cheers of the crowd were suddenly too faint.

Suddenly, Viktor wanted the program to _end._

Or at least that’s what his body wanted. Viktor is too stubborn to just stop and lay on the ice. He made parts of this program and he wants to show it. With a grit of his teeth, he launches himself to another quad, a Salchow, and he _over rotates,_ losing his footing and falling on the ice. He hears a few gasps over the ringing in his ears. He shakes it off, trying to get back to skating to the end.

He didn’t want to show how the fall had gotten to him or how the fatigue threatened to make his body drop to ice. He failed _greatly_ at that. He gasps, catching his breath as he prepares himself to perform his last jump, a triple loop. He lands shakily as his body struggled to carry its own weight despite his exhaustion. He enters a spin, ending it with his hand reaching toward the sky.

As soon as the music ended, Viktor is brought to his knees, huffing as he tries to regain his breath. He heard the applause of the audience as bouquets and plush toys were thrown to the ice. He looks up at the crowd and feels only ghost of happiness. He balled his fists as tears blurred his vision. He messed up. He wasn’t able to keep up his energy to the end of his skate. He had lost more points than he gained from his jump. He had lost a lot instead of gaining more. He had ruined himself in the best way he knew how.

 

 

 

 

It was a field day for the press. Viktor remained silent throughout the rest of the day. Yakov scolded him for his mistake, berating him for having gone through with the jump despite prior warnings of fatigue.

“Why couldn’t you have just listened!?”

Viktor had inevitably missed the podium for the first time in a major competition. He knew he was expected to place or even come out on top. However, his craving for a signature move had pulled him down _by a lot._ He had ruined the program which he had worked so hard on. He skated a story that hadn’t become what it was planned out to be. Instead, it had become a sorry excuse to show off a new move. To Viktor, it was pitiful.

Viktor, in his taciturn state took everything anyone said to him in silence, hardly acknowledging anyone. On their way out, the press rushed to him barricading him at all sides. Flashing lights, and microphones pushed to his face as he tried to regain a semblance of personal space.

“Viktor! Answer a few of our questions?”

“How does it feel to be the first to land that quad considering your standing in Nationals?”

“Viktor!”

Yakov pushes himself in front of his student, creating a wall between him and the uncouth reporters.

“Viktor, go back to the suite.” 

Yakov pushes him out of the barricade of people and shouts at him to run back to the hotel.

“If you have any questions, I suggest you direct them to me. My student needs his rest and if you ill-mannered journalists would kindly comply, I am to answer any question directed to Viktor.”

 

 

 

 

Viktor had gotten away from the suffocating questions thrown at him as he exited the rink. Thanks to Yakov, he was safe for now. He had let his feet move him to face the mirror. He could no longer recognize himself. He didn’t realize that a ‘smile’ had itself pasted on his face against his will. He gazed at his reflection. The glare of the light burning itself against the mirror.

Suddenly, flashes of light seized his sight. _He remembers the way he had exited the arena_. He felt the immediate tightening of his throat. His throat was closing in. His chest constricted against the rapid beating of his chest, as if on the verge of breaking the bones of his ribs threatening to collapse at any moment. His ragged breaths couldn’t make up for the immense lack of air in his lungs. His heart beat too quickly and his lungs had been squeezed tight. His whole chest felt like it was about to burst. He clutched his chest, willing himself to loosen the tightness distressing him. He focused on thinking of other things…but he just couldn’t catch his own thoughts. His thoughts were running beyond miles.

_‘Such a lackluster performance from Nikiforov’_

_‘How truly disappointing from one of our leading participants, yes?’_

No- they were running in circles closing him in.

_‘Will Nikiforov recover from this and return to the podium?’_

_‘Viktor will return with a stellar performance next season to make up for this.’_

_‘That I will make sure.’_

Closing him in.

_‘The kid was too ambitious for his own good.’_

_‘That’s what he gets for thinking he’s better than us.’_

_‘It was all just luck.’_

_‘Talented waste.’_

Closing in on him.

He’s _trapped._

_‘Why couldn’t you have just listened!?’_

_Why didn’t I just listen?_

Viktor jumped back from the mirror and looked around. The room felt too big. No, maybe everything felt too close for Viktor. All he knew was that he knew just how much space existed between him and everything else, along with how close in proximity others were. The walls were suddenly moving toward him. They were getting closer each passing second. He tried to push them back but he couldn’t. There was nothing his hand could grasp. The immense space of the room robbed him of oxygen. Bile was rising up, choking him. Tears welled up in his eyes and his voice strained to produce any sound.

Shouldn’t he ask for help?

‘No. I can do this… _on my own_.’  Vision blurring as he curled up in himself.

The last thing he saw was his hands clutching tight to the costume he still wore.

 

                             

 

That was the night Viktor swore he would never dare let himself succumb to anything anymore.

 

 

 

 

IV.

 

_The flashing lights surprised him at first. Despite the glare of the lights, his eyes opened as they revealed the spark which had ignited the flare of passion in the young competitor. Viktor Nikiforov would later become one of the most prominent figure skaters in the history of the sport.  At that peak however, the spark which once lit blue would have dulled greatly, going by unnoticed except by Viktor himself. The flashing lights could only try to imitate the spark of light now lost._

Viktor had his eyes fixed on the white expanse of his ceiling. The lamps hanging from the ceiling couldn’t fill in the emptiness it held. Each time he woke up, he was welcomed by the same things. The same bland expanse of white littered with the black wires hanging from the ceiling. The very first thing he sees never fails to remind him of monotony.

His eyes became duller as time passed while his smile became more of a habit rather than genuine.

Each time he was confronted by questions on what his next move would be, he felt as if he was being choked. Skating was his life, but in the end it took _life_ itself away from him. He has signed himself into a path which required him to be statically dynamic. A mundane life on the ice filled with fleeting faces and dulled feelings. He eventually succumbed to the mask he had worn to protect himself, to make himself seem stronger. But what is a man of art without inspiration? What is a man of freedom with chains bolted around his neck and feet?

Who was Viktor Nikiforov without skating?

The sounds of his skates scraping the ice was what grounded him. He let himself be trapped after all. It’s where he felt at his ‘best’. It’s where he felt purpose. But that purpose had made him a slave to his own ambitions.

Viktor Nikiforov had become a slave of his own skating.

His vast collection of gold medals and his 5 consecutive Grand Prix Final wins did nothing but tighten the chains bolted in his neck. For something that made him feel free in the past, it had become the very thing which trapped him in an unfulfilling life, a dull everyday affair.

There was one night that he had felt differently however. On that night, it was as if the weight of his gold medals were lifted off him. That night, he didn’t have to keep up with his title as Living Legend Viktor Nikiforov. On that night, Viktor learned that he was still capable of smiling with his heart again.

At the heart of that night was a skater who had lost a lot but was able to give Viktor a taste of everything he had needed, everything that he missed. All the things that he didn’t know he actually _wanted_.

 

 

And a video was what sealed the deal. Viktor would go halfway across the world to feel life again.

 

 

Getting on that plane to Japan was his only chance.

“Vitya! Don’t go, stay here.”

_‘I am missing something here.’_

“Yakov, you were the best coach I ever had. You always will be”

“If you walk away now, you can never come back!”

_‘I don’t want to.’_

“до свидания.”

_‘This is my only chance, please understand.’_

 

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t do as you say this time.”

 

 

 

 

V.

 

Viktor didn’t want to listen.

For a moment, Viktor was afraid. For a moment, Viktor saw himself. The man crying before him was the same boy who had shut in all his emotions, afraid of being vulnerable out in the open, but this man was everything Viktor was and isn’t. Viktor had cried when he was younger but now he wouldn’t dare let the tears spill from his eyes. No one needed to know that the Living Legend himself was in pain. What they wanted to know was what he had in store for them, what amazing program the Living Legend had up his sleeve to surprise them.

Yuuri hadn’t asked anything more from him aside from asking him to stay by his side.

At that moment, Viktor didn’t want to listen to Yuuri’s sobs. Knowing that he had pushed beyond the line, shattering Yuuri’s heart in a way he would regret for days to come, Viktor realized how much of an idiot he had been. Viktor assumed that Yuuri had his fears coming from himself. He hadn’t realized how much Yuuri _genuinely cared_ about him, to the point of stressing himself before his program.

“Alright. I’ll stay by your side, Yuuri. I’m not going to leave.”

He brought Yuuri into his arms as he willed his tears to not fall.

He has to be stronger.

He’s a coach now after all.

 

 

 

Viktor didn’t want to listen.

The stabbing words Yuri Plisetsky uttered were a dash of red over the blue which colored his world. Viktor kept his composure. It was reality which Yuri had spoken of. It was a break in the illusion Viktor had when he was young, that people genuinely enjoyed his performances, that his skating had caught the hearts of many. It was a break in the mirror Viktor had long realized before he had become the face of skating. It was a crack he had tried to ignore throughout his whole career, holding on to the hope that there were people who had loved what he did, and would love **_him_** because of that.

But after a turn of events, Yuuri waltzes into his life, making him feel the love and life which he had sorely missed.

However, throughout the months Viktor coached Yuuri, Viktor knew that he was inept as a coach. He knew at the back of his mind that it was Yuuri himself who had brought him to this point. He was too inexperienced.

All he knew was to take things in stride, place his emotions at the back of his mind, plaster on a smile and surprise the world. Letting the crowd turn him into a wind-up toy set for surprises whenever they wanted it. He is all but a washed up toy now, a sheen of glitter covering the bland.

Maybe Yuri was right. Maybe he should just leave.

But he would never dare leave Yuuri’s side.

He promised he would never leave.

He couldn’t.

He would never dare try.

 

 

 

Viktor didn’t want to listen.

 

Viktor is a selfish man. He knew this himself. What he didn’t expect was the extent of Katsuki Yuuri’s selfishness. He hadn’t expected that sweet Yuuri. The Yuuri who had told him to be himself. The Yuuri who almost asked nothing of him except to stay by his side. The Yuuri who held all the things Viktor had been missing his whole life to be the one to shatter his steeled heart into pieces.

“How can you tell me to return to the ice while saying you’re retiring?!”

The tears rushed down his face. Everything felt surreal and everything felt incredibly **_real_** at the same time. It was the first time in a long while that he let his feelings overcome him. Each salty tear chasing the other down his cheek. At that moment, Viktor felt everything he had looked forward to collapse. Was Viktor the only one who had wanted this to last forever?

“Viktor, you have to go back—“

“It’s not right, Yuuri!”

“Viktor, it’s okay! I was already thinking of making this my last season.”

“Since when?”

“Since...”

 

 

Viktor didn’t want to listen.

Viktor didn’t want everything to end.

 

 

“I am not skating without you, Yuuri.”

 

 

 

 

+1

 

“That’s enough for now, Vitya.”

Viktor knew better than to push his body at this point. He panted as he leant against the barrier. His stamina was against him at this point, keeping him at the brink of immense exhaustion.  Viktor was familiar with the gruelling fatigue which follows intense training and very much familiar with it as a signal to end training. He doesn’t push himself any further. His body is his instrument in this sport, he will do his best to maintain it.

He was a living legend. If anyone had the ability to exceed expectations, it was him. He had thought that same notion all these years, inevitably creating chains out of something he dearly loved. He had felt obliged to be the one to create a spectacle for onlookers. He had felt that each time he did, it made him stronger. However, all it did was strengthen the façade which had emptied that which gave him life. Fating him to a loneliness, an _emptiness,_ he had become too familiar with.

Yuuri was no better, he had his failures set as his own self-imposed restraints. Unfortunately, he himself threw away the key.

In a way, they had experienced the same pain.

And Viktor knew the pain went two ways, given that he had been on opposite sides of the spectrum. Few people can relate to someone who they think is at the top of the world. With Viktor, people had exaggerated his power to overcome the pain. In the public eye, he was strong, hardly batting an eye at competition or anything that was served to shake him. To everyone, he was _untouchable_.

No one understands. No one would want to understand.

But after Yuuri, he realized that maybe that isn’t really so. Because after Yuuri, everything changed. After Yuuri, he didn’t have to only be Figure Skating Legend Viktor Nikiforov. After Yuuri, he could just be _Viktor_. He could be himself and anything else he had wanted to be. And after Yuuri, he was no longer _alone._

 

Yakov let out a sigh as he waited for Viktor to skate back to the barrier. Viktor knew that Yakov had been wanting him to lay off a bit on these late night training sessions. Viktor had been polishing his choreography for a week now, never seeming to be satisfied with the results. He had changed some elements and removed some he had already switched back, wanting to make sure it was a skate worthy of Yuuri’s audience.  

As Viktor arrived at the barrier, he had leant against it as he felt a stabbing pain occur in his right knee. Viktor gritted his teeth and held on his knee, hoping that the pain would slowly ebb away. Yakov was alarmed, seeing the discomfort written on Viktor’s expression. Both of them had thought that his past injury had made a great recovery back when Viktor was just starting out in the Senior division. They hadn’t foreseen the possibility of a _relapse_.

“Vitya, we’ll have it checked over tomorrow.” Concern laced Yakov’s words. Yakov had seen Viktor in pain several times since he had become his coach. However, this time he saw the flicker of anguish across Viktor’s face before he plastered on an easy smile. His student has been bottling up his restlessness. There was no doubt that Viktor was fueled by inspiration and the desire to compete once again to face Yuuri as a competitor. However, he knew that Viktor had worried about this return to the ice, and that just happened to be amplified by the pain he had just felt.

“Thanks, Yakov. I’ll tape it once I get home for now.” Viktor moved to sit on the bench, ignoring the very slight tinge of pain when he moved his right leg forward. The pain will ebb away in time. He must have overexerted his knee given that he hasn’t placed himself under such intense training for a while now.

“Make sure to ice it as well.”

Yakov handed him a pack of ice and made him rest it against his knee. Yakov may be the strictest coach in all of figure skating but he knew when to be there when his skaters needed him most. Even without them saying a word. 

“After we get a proper diagnosis from your physiologist, we’ll keep to practicing the choreography.”

“Thanks, Yakov. I was actually of changing things up a bit towards the end.”

“Hmmph. Didn’t you show me a camel spin the other day for that? Why change it? It seems unnecessary to me.” Yakov folded his arms across his chest as Viktor proceeded to unlace his skates.

“Yakoooov, it doesn’t feel fit with the flow of the ending.”

“Yes, yes Vitya. Just go with whatever you have planned out.” Yakov spoke with mild exasperation.

“I’ll show it to you next time, Yakov. I know it’s something that’ll amaze Yuuri. I’m sure of it!” Gusto filled each word Viktor uttered.

“Whatever you say, Vitya.” Yakov replied as he shook his head, a silver of a smile hid the frown that tried to show.

 

 

Viktor left the rink with a pat on his shoulder.

“Take care of yourself, Vitya.”

 

 

 

 

At this point, Yakov hoped that Yuuri would be able to bring out Viktor out from his own darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as Viktor arrived home, the pain had gone away almost as if it wasn’t there when he had stepped off the ice. Surely his physician would recommend him to use some support for a while and suggest him to tone down his jumps. However, the uneasiness which he had gained after his knee had reminded him of his past mishap made him on edge.

It wasn’t that the pain was excruciating, preventing him from moving his leg in any way. The fact it had returned shocked him. He was only a teenager when he had injured himself. He had wanted to push himself beyond his limits to give Yuuri worthy competition. To not hold anything back in his skating, to show Yuuri how much he had made him fall in love with this sport all over again. This season, _his skating_ , all of it was for Yuuri, dedicating both his programs to the life and love he found in his life. The assumed relapse dashed a gray tint over that current ambition.

His body was his instrument, and to know that soon his instrument would no longer serve him...it had opened a wound which he had carefully, _painfully_ stitched himself.

Viktor opened the door to his apartment, greeted by the sight of his precious Makkachin, patiently waiting to pounce on him. Viktor leaned down and scratched behind his dog’s ears as he laid down his sportsbag. Makkachin never failed to greet him as he returned home.

Yuuri appeared out of the kitchen as soon as he heard the sound of the door. A wide smile spreading over his lips as he moved to hug Viktor.

“Welcome back, Viktor!”

“I’m home, Yuuri.” Viktor had shrugged off his coat as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri, reveling the contrast between the cold breeze stuck to his skin and the warmth radiating from Yuuri’s form.

“How was training, Viktor?”

“Hmm…keeping an eye on the competition, aren’t you? Well, my Yuuri, whatever I have planned is a surprise.” Yuuri let out a chuckle as he and Vikor moved to the living room. Viktor excused himself for a while as he walked to the bedroom to change as well as tape his knee. Better to be careful than to be reckless about such things. 

“Viktor? Are you hurt?” Yuuri’s concerned voice broke Viktor out of his thoughts. He hadn’t told Yuuri about his injury and how it had earned him a scolding from Yakov when he was younger. Actually, he hadn’t told Yuuri much about what he’s been through.

Viktor instinctively wore an easy smile.

“It’s just something minor Yuuri.”

“You’re taping it.”

“Nothing some good rest can’t handle.”

Yuuri had seen Viktor like this before. This was the Viktor he had a spat with during their sightseeing. This was a Viktor in _hiding_.

 “Viktor, don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“But Viktor, you’re—“

“I’m not, Yuuri.”

“Viktor—“

“Just drop it, Yuuri.”

 

 

The shocked look on Yuuri’s face snapped Viktor out of his reverie. At that moment, Viktor knew that he had made the tension in their home even worse. He had been on edge for the past week. He admits that maybe the stress of a comeback had gotten to him, messing with his mood as he emanated weariness. However, Yuuri didn’t deserve to put up with it. He doesn’t deserve any form of maltreatment from Viktor. He gave a sigh, calming his restless mind as he moved to hold Yuuri in his arms, looking into his eyes communicating the remorse he felt for lashing out on him.

 

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed him tight. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Viktor…”

 

“Yuuri, it’s nothing. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 

Yuuri gave a small frown at his answer.  It was just like Viktor to hide his weakness in front of him. It was just like Viktor to hide how he truly felt so as to not worry Yuuri. As if, any difficulty, would make Yuuri love him any less.

 

“You know Viktor, I’ve been thinking…” Yuuri sat beside Viktor on the couch, his hand grasping the soft navy cushion. He bit his lip, as if willing himself to have some courage.

“Why don’t we train until 3 in the afternoon instead?”

“Yuuri, you have a competition next month. It’s best if we keep the momentum.”

“Viktor, you’ve been pushing yourself too much. You’ve just been from a long break and—“

“Yuuri, its fine. I’m your coach. It’s something I have to do.”

“Viktor, it’s not. Besides, I’ll be fine on my own for a while.”

“Yuuri. You can’t just---“

“I’ll be fine Viktor. Don’t worry about me, Europeans is right around the corner. You have to--”

“You have 4 continents to prepare for, too. I can’t just cut your training just so I could practice!”

“Well, I don’t want you to get dragged down because of me!”

 

The two stared down at each other, adrenaline and anger rushing through their veins as silence permeated the air between them.

 

“I’m not cutting your training time with me in half.” Viktor hardens his gaze as he fought to keep his composure. He was upset and tired. But he honestly doesn’t want this to end on a bad note either.

“It’d be unfair for me to focus on my training while putting yours on hold, Yuuri.”

“Well, it’s not fair that you’re keeping all of this to yourself either.”

Silence crept up between them as they stared down at each other. Viktor lets out an exasperated sigh as he combed back his bangs away from his face. They had fought over this in Barcelona and are arguing over it again now here in St. Petersburg. It’s funny how this issue seems to hound them ever since that day. He was tired of it. He knew Yuuri was tired of it too. He knew that they should’ve talked about it a bit more thoroughly. He knew that he couldn’t just wave it off and tell Yuuri that they’d have enough time to go over it again. He didn’t want to hurt the other again. The very thought made him clench his chest, reminding him of how much the look of tears streaming down Yuuri’s face stabbed him. He knew he was being unfair to both Yuuri and himself. This had to stop…even if it’s at his own expense.

“Yuuri… I know I’m not the best coach but I know Yakov is the best coach I’ve ever had.” Viktor started softly, reluctant to start an argument again, afraid to hurt his fiancée even more.  “In that sense, I want to find a way to be the best coach I could be for you too. That’s why I can’t just let you sacrifice your time with training so--”

“Viktor.” Yuuri stepped closer to Viktor, locking his gaze with blue. His steady tone drowned out Viktor’s ramble.

“You’re right. You’re not the best….but even then, I learned a lot from you and I got better because of that.”

“Yuuri…”

“I am tired of this fighting too…So _please_ , listen to me.”

“…alright.”

“You’ve done a lot for me, Viktor.” Yuuri stepped forward bringing their hands together.

“I want to show you how much you’ve done for me.”  Yuuri’s hands squeezed their hands tight as if trying to convey more than the words Yuuri had said.

“Just…let me help you with this, please.”

“It’s not something that can be helped with, Yuuri.”

“You’re just saying that, Viktor.”

 

 

Glassy eyes stared up at him in determination.

 

 

“Yuuri…”

 

 

“I want to help, Viktor. Please let me.” Yuuri spoke with conviction, words laced with soft concern and utmost sincerity.

 

 

 

 

_“Viktor, I’m here.”_

 

Viktor brought his arms around Yuuri, squeezing him tight. Viktor wanted to say more but he felt that this was the only to let Yuuri know how deeply moved he is, how intensely he felt for this man. The words which tumbled out of Yuuri’s mouth served as a release to all the emotions swirling inside Viktor’s chest, releasing a dam which had overflowed beyond his pretense. Yuuri. _His Yuuri_ continues to surprise him, showing how determined he is to let Viktor know he isn’t on his own anymore. Yuuri was someone who fought alone. Then Viktor had come into his life, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in his battles after all. Yuuri wanted to remind Viktor of that too. Neither of them are alone anymore.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Tears started to form at the corners of his eyes as he bent down and planted a kiss on the top of Yuuri’s head. They stood swaying softly in their tight embrace.

Arms remained wrapped around the other as they moved to lay on the couch. Viktor’s arms wound up around Yuuri’s waist as he rested his head against Yuuri’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was more than comfortable, to say the least, it was soothing down to Viktor’s soul. Finally for a while, he let himself drown in the low hum of Yuuri’s heart and heat of their bodies curled against each other on the couch.

For a long time, Viktor hadn’t imagined that he would feel warmth bloom in his chest again. For that same time, he never thought of the many things he had missed after dedicating his whole being into his skating.

‘ _I hardly thought of anything **besides** skating_.’

He realized he had gone back to thinking too much about skating again. He had relapsed but this time he worried for Yuuri’s skating rather than his. He should’ve looked out more for himself and of course Yuuri. He hadn’t realized how much Yuuri had fretted over their arrangement. He had probably thought about even during the Grand Prix Final, thinking of the way things could go wrong and the things which could inevitably lead to only difficulty.

_‘I’ll be better for you, Yuuri.’_

He brought his head up to rest against Yuuri’s as he caged the younger man in his embrace. He stared into the warm hues of Yuuri’s eyes, studying the light flickering within burgundy hues.

_‘I missed two important things in my life. I’m so lucky…to have found them in one person.’_

“My Yuuri.” Viktor spoke with utmost devotion, tears spilling without coercion. Viktor brought his hand against Yuuri’s cheek, thumb drawing circles around the apple of his cheek. Trying to memorize the feel of Yuuri’s soft skin against his palm. Yuuri brought his own hand up and grasped Viktor’s as he tilted his head to lean more into the warmth of Viktor’s hand.

_‘Yuuri, you’ve done so much for me…and you don’t even realize it.’_

“We’ll work this out together. I promise, Yuuri.”

“Yeah, _together_.”

Yuuri placed his hand against Viktor’s cheek as he smiled tearfully, eyes glistening with unshed tears of relief. Smiling in return, Viktor brought the hand resting against his cheek to his lips, tracing the calloused lines with kisses, decorating his palm with all the words Viktor wanted Yuuri to keep.

“…Yuuri?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Viktor.”

_‘I love you…so much.’_

And they stayed like that. Viktor caressing Yuuri’s face. Yuuri’s hand resting against the smoothness of Victor’s cheek. Foreheads leaning against each other as they clung to each other in comfort. Their eyes misty and glassy as their gaze persistently struggled to engrave each other’s face into heart. Tears dropped like rain as they cascaded down Viktor’s face. Viktor’s eyes weren’t a storm however, no thunder or lightning accompanying the downpour. Instead, a light shone from them as if imitating the bright sky even as the rain poured onto the earth.

And maybe that’s just how they were. Viktor was the sky and Yuuri was the earth. He changes as often as the sky colors itself suiting the weather. However, his eyes never fail to reflect every beautiful thing he is gazing down on. Yuuri was the earth, grounded and colorful yet trying to reach up like the trees growing their branches, extending them in hopes of reaching the sky. And Viktor knew that this time the earth would be right there to catch him if he falls.

 

 

 

“Hey Viktor…?”

A playful tap on the top of his head brought his attention.

“Yes?”

 

 

 

 

“I want to kiss your gold medal too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually my first attempt at angst. I was really kind of nervous to post this since I'm used to writing light-hearted things mostly as well as stories which require a lot of plot lmao. But I really wanted to get this out so I can go back and write more for "For Every Occasion". This story was basically salvaged from a plot bunny I wrote in a document during March. Basically, this fic is pure self-indulgence and self-torture. There were some parts where I got lazy actually. This fic is largely a bit roughly edited so I'm sorry for any grammatical errors. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this. Kudos and comments are highly appreciated! Constructive criticism as well~
> 
> BTW, I am currently planning a multichaptered fic centered on Yuuri. I don't want to reveal too much about it as of now but basically it's a modern fantasy with some plot-driven (???) smut dashed into it. Hope you all look forward to it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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